


Support

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Saruman and Thranduil are ill pleased to find a servant at their table, but Elrond will hear none of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for littleriiver’s “Elrondir where they go to a conference and Elrond takes Lindir and everyone knows Lindir is a servant and treats him differently and somewhat horribly and and Elrond is protective af” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Elrond’s hand slips subtly around his own, hidden between the many folds of their robes, and if it weren’t for that, Lindir would run—he _knows_ he isn’t worthy of this. But Elrond gives his palm a little squeeze, and a familiar warmth twists its way through Lindir’s body, rippling beneath his skin— _Elrond_ wants him here, and who is he to defy his lord? He’s honoured by the way Elrond strolls so regally into the council chambers, proudly displaying Lindir at his side. Lindir can’t bring himself to hold his head as high, but he walks with rigid posture, keeping stride with his beloved lord.

There are two seats waiting for them at the rounded table, prepared on Elrond’s request, and Lindir hates how his hand must leave Elrond’s to pull it back. They both settle into their chairs, the wood here noticeably harder than it is in Lindir’s home, and the guard closes the grand doors behind them. The chamber is somewhat dark with the late hour, lit with only candles and vine-covered windows high above. The two other parties are already present, and Lindir’s breath catches at one of them.

He’s only seen the wizard Saruman once before, long ago, and it wasn’t like _this_ —it was only a passing glance, he amongst the other servants and Saruman tall upon his horse. He looks as distant now as he did then. 

King Thranduil, on the other side of their triangular formation, appears just as stern, but he’s still full of beauty, the most youthful at the table, and he suits the surroundings better. They’ve come to his home, and he holds some power for it. His dark crown of interwoven branches looks all the more impressive in this hallowed keep. His jewel-encrusted hands are folded on the table, his air more luxurious than the other two. 

Both wizard and king are alone and wait on Elrond’s word, though Elrond is the guest and merely the go-between amongst their larger plans. Lindir keeps his hands folded delicately in his lap and his gaze respectfully lowered. He’s perfectly aware of his own status.

Saruman still breaks the silence to say, voice shrewd and harsh, “You have brought a servant to our chamber.”

Lindir doesn’t wince. He suspected this would happen, though he’d hoped it wouldn’t come so swiftly and obviously—they haven’t even yet begun their plans. Elrond answers coolly, “Lindir is my trusted attendant, and he will be helpful in this matter.”

Thranduil snorts. Elrond turns sharply to him, but he says no more, simply reaches to the middle of the table to fetch the lone bottle of wine that sits there. Three glasses lie around it; Lindir knows who they’re for. Thranduil pours himself a drink, though Lindir feels the overwhelming urge to rush to his side and do it for him, while Saruman asks icily, “How?”

Elrond slowly pulls his gaze from Thranduil to Saruman. “This will, inevitably, call upon the good will of Men. Lindir has attended many of my guests and knows more of them than most Elves. I have Men in my home, but when you relayed to me that this would be a matter between you and the elves, I thought it wise to bring someone who may have more experience in such dealings.” 

Lindir, in fact, has very little dealings with Men, beyond his attentions to Estel. Certainly not as much as Elrond himself, who fought in the Last Alliance. But Elrond wished another set of eyes with him, and Lindir’s never seen Elrond’s intuitions prove false. He knows he is here to help confer with Elrond after this meeting, yet he can’t seem to lift his eyes from the surface of the table. Every word Elrond speaks in his defense thrills him—it means nothing to him if Saruman thinks him worthless; it’s _Elrond’s_ opinion of him he craves.

“If I wished a Man’s perspective,” Saruman all but sneers, “I would have brought a prince, or even the king of Rohan. One _servant_ will do us no good.” He puts a good deal of emphasis on the one word. Lindir still says nothing.

Though his voice is far softer than Saruman’s, when Elrond says, “I disagree,” it sounds like law. 

In Lindir’s peripherals, Thranduil idly swirls the wine about his glass and muses, “I did find it an usual choice in a meeting of kings.”

“I am not a king,” Elrond parries.

“No,” Saruman adds, “and a king summoned a wizard, who has far better things to do than converse with the kitchen staff.”

The tension in Elrond’s voice has grown taut enough to cut. “He is a valued member of my staff.” Lindir finds himself holding his breath, worried solely for that—for the strain this puts on Elrond, the disrespect of his decisions, the needless argument, when Lindir comes only because of his lord’s request, and surely that should be enough.

Then Thranduil asks, tone merely conversational, “Are you bedding him? If you wish a prince or a queen for your side, I am sure we could find far more appropriate—”

“I do not care if he wishes to fornicate with wargs,” Saruman hisses, “those consorts should not sit at our table.”

In one swift movement, Elrond rises from his chair, the sound of it scraping back jarring the room to silence. Lindir can feel his lord’s distress as surely as he would feel his own, and for that only, he begrudges their company. Thranduil finally sets his glass upon the table, and Lindir finally levels his gaze, catching, perhaps, a small flicker of amusement in Thranduil’s eye. The drama doesn’t appear to please Saruman the same way, but Elrond speaks with finality to them both, “If Lindir is not welcome at this table, then neither am I, and you will have to discuss your plans without using Imladris in between.”

Thranduil does frown at this. Isengard is a far cry from the Woodland Realm, and Lindir knows that a friendly way station could prove invaluable in dealings between them. Despite the clear subject of the trouble, Thranduil looks only at Elrond as he drawls, “I apologize for my suggestion; I suppose it was crass for such a setting. Please, sit—there is no need to throw away plans that would benefit us all.”

He’s barely finished speaking when Saruman rolls right over him, “You dare speak of welcome? Mithrandir may tolerate such poor etiquette, but I—”

“Will journey home without the respite of my home,” Elrond coldly finishes for him. “And if any show up upon my doorstep with as poor manners as you, they will be sent away at the gate.” Elrond still nods a semi-respectful leave to Thranduil, then pats Lindir’s shoulder, and Lindir takes the signal. He rises from his chair with a full-body bow that neither occupant of the table acknowledges. Elrond and Lindir stroll from the room together through the silence. 

They’re quiet as they descend the stairs and whisk through the corridor below, no one coming to stop them. Lindir enjoys a secret pleasure at Elrond’s protection of him, but he does feel guilt, and when they’ve turned down another hallway and feel sufficiently far, Lindir murmurs, “I do apologize, my lord, for causing you such trouble.”

Though Lindir spoke too low to carry, Elrond stops abruptly. Lindir halts with him, displeased by his lord’s frown. Despite a lone guard stationed outside a door at the end of the corridor, Elrond takes a step towards Lindir and closes the distance between, bestowing him with a chaste kiss. Word of it will spread, Lindir knows, and his lips tingle as Elrond pulls away. Elrond sighs, “I am the one that should apologize, my Lindir. In my quest to have two sets of ears hear Saruman’s plans, I did not think properly of how you would be treated. You did not deserve such venom.”

Lindir did. But he still only smiles, to show his lord that he’s well, and Elrond gives him another quick kiss for it that makes Lindir all but glow. He mumbles in the wake of them, “I am fine, only sorry that you will not gather the information you would have liked.”

Elrond waves a dismissive hand and mutters, “It is also well. They will come to me again, I believe, and be more cautious then. Thranduil may also still write amends, and his people will always be welcome in our halls.” Lindir nods, expecting as much. He’s attended enough Mirkwood delegations to know that King Thranduil’s bark is worse than his bite, at least, before the wine is in him.

Elrond reaches to take Lindir’s hand back in his, still in full view of the guard, and Lindir savours the soft caress of Elrond’s long fingers intertwining with his. As they begin to walk again, Elrond continues, “And I am sorry that I drew such a quick end to our visit. I know you were looking forward to visiting some of your kind in these woods. Nevertheless, I would leave Saruman to stew on his approach a while longer—would you be amenable to an immediate departure?”

“I would not wish to doom your council so,” Lindir answers easily, “but I will happily ride with you, anywhere and any time that you should wish.” The woods, after all, will still be here on the next journey, and Lindir always wants to spend every moment with Elrond that he can. 

Elrond smiles softly and murmurs, “Good, as I would rather spend tonight in a harried camp upon the earth with you by my side than alone in one of Thranduil’s silken beds.” Lindir’s cheeks flush at the notion, his head ducking so the curtain of his hair might cover it. He feels much the same. 

He’s still pleased when he’s helped onto the back of his lord’s horse, and he holds Elrond close throughout the journey home.


End file.
